(Requested)

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I told myself I would stop smoking, for the sake of my own sanity. I'd already thrown out all the nicotine I had and invested the money in books. Judging by how many novels I'd bought with the new budget, it was a good decision. A step in the right direction, considering that I was a writer.

Sighing as I organized the pile of books on the floor, stacking them so they fit perfectly into my bookshelf, I grumbled as I fought the urge to go out and suck on my pipe. Maybe there were leftovers still stuck in there. Once I realized my thought process, I shouted and hurriedly stuffed the novels into their place and fumed. Stomping out the door, I wanted to do something to stop this toxic cycle.

I should do something different. There has to be something to do.

Maybe my horrible life was a byproduct of all the shitty decisions I made so far. My publishing company didn't fail me, at least. I couldn't say that my career was a total flop, and I had a consistent paycheck, but I just felt so damn sad and lonely all the time. Sure, I was whining, but it wasn't for no good reason.

Plus, it wasn't like I hated every single thing on the planet Earth, I was just in a rut. Motivation was fleeting and I didn't have enough energy to chase after it. Not without an excuse, at least. I spent my days tirelessly writing and working my ass off for deadlines. To think I once enjoyed writing -- that was a long time ago, when I was a child. I'd daydream for hours, weaving fantasies in my head like I was on mushrooms.

How I wished to get a glimpse of the old days, to feel what I felt way back when I wasn't like this. I was so sure I was going to die alone and miserable, since I broke all the old connections I had when I started my career. It wasn't part of the contract or anything, I just felt that if I were to be mature, then I should sever off my childhood -- drop it like a lizard to its cut-off tail. 

My jaw clenched as I spotted my pipe on the ground. I picked it up, squinting in distaste, debating about whether I should or shouldn't go to the market to get another good smoke in. I could drown out my worries that way.

Scoffing at myself, I took the fragile wooden tube and broke it in half, tossing it into the bushes.

How stupid.

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Two days later, I was still in that same mood. But instead of twiddling my thumbs and lounging around like some lazy pig, I tried to pick up a new hobby while still reminiscing at the old days.

Ah, to be young.

I sounded like some old geezer.

But I kept thinking.

I miss everyone.

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A week passed and I could safely say I was in a better mood. My cravings weren't as bad, and I tended to chew on mint leaves rather than suck on that damn wooden pipe.

Maybe for this reason, the universe decided to gift me a surprise.

The invitation arrived by crow. I was outside, doing some garden work when that black bird flew in front of me, its beady eyes analyzing every single one of my features. For a moment, it seemed hesitant to come near, but the creature eventually hopped its way to my feet and dropped a note by them.

I could have imagined it, but it seemed as if the crow gave me a slight bow before flapping it great wings and flying away. Eyeing the rolled-up parchment carefully, I picked it up and unraveled it, curious to see what message was displayed inside.

(Y/N),

I hope this letter finds its way to you without interruption. It's been a long time since we've last spoken, so before we get to the technicalities, I'd like to know: how are you? Hopefully you're in a prosperous position, one of good wealth and balance. I remember you always went on about becoming a renowned poet, and I think you're quite close to achieving that dream. Just yesterday I bought one of your books, and the limericks and clever haikus are quite entertaining.

Anyways, the real reason I wrote to you so late in our relationship is that I've been meaning to see you again. The last time we met, if I recall it correctly, was ten years ago -- far too long of a time for friends to be separated, no? 

During these years, I imagine that a lot has changed. You're out and about, pursuing your dream and accomplishing your wildest dreams. It's admirable, to say the least. Though my disability hinders the possibility of me becoming a sumo wrestler, I am doing better than expected (even though I live with that disappointment).

I've just realized, in the middle of my jest, the topic has suddenly shifted to me. It's unpleasant, seeing how little control I have over my words. Please accept my apology, (Y/N), as I don't expect you to become suddenly infatuated with my life, nor does the meeting represent a discussion about the current events happening in my little "circle."

I just truly want to catch up with you. One of my greatest wishes is to see you again after all these years. I've missed our kinship. 

So please, I implore you to come. There will be a guide outside of your house an hour after this crow is delivered. Please do not be frightened by the methods taken to bring you to my estate -- I'm sure you understand based on our previous history together.

I'm looking forwards to our potential reunion.

- Kagaya Ubuyashiki

My teeth tugged at my bottom lip as I closed the scroll, feeling tears well up in my eyes. With a tidal wave of memories flooding back into my mind, I couldn't help but want to cry. Kagaya was one of the people that made my childhood worthwhile. I'd met him when I was eight, while he was nine. We spent our free time together, however small the amount was. 

Despite being so young, we were always busy. I took advanced courses at home, tutored by poets and writers from across the community. My parents did all they could to help me on my way to success, which I was grateful for. I never knew what Kagaya did, as he always kept it a secret, but I appreciated him nonetheless. He seemed so mature, even at age nine. 

The way he thought was like a philosopher. Whenever I showed him my work, he'd bring about inquiries that would dumbfound even the greatest of my masters. I wondered how he did it and always wanted to be like him -- diligent, thoughtful, understanding. 

Even now as an adult, he never fails to blow me away with his humility.

Sighing once more as I swept the stray tears off of my face, I pocketed the scroll and continued to do my garden work until the guide came. I was just about done when a masked figure strolled up to my home and asked me if I was (Y/N) (L/N). In response, I nodded and exchanged greetings before hopping onto their back and being blindfolded by the figure.

"I hope Master already told you about the procedure," they muttered awkwardly, "It's to prevent information from leaking." I laughed lightly and waved the thought away. Too excited to see my old friend again, the commentary bounced off me like rain to an umbrella.

"It's a smart idea." With that, the guide hauled me onto their back and took off running along their designated path.

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Once I could finally see again, I blinked for a couple moments to let my eyes adjust to the blinding light. Though my vision was blurry and I couldn't quite make out the scene in front of me, I sensed multiple presences waiting for me at the entrance to the estate. When I'd finally cleared all the fog out of my head, I felt myself instinctively draw in a small gasp.

There Kagaya was, standing in the middle of a group of colorful figures. He wore a small and docile smile, gently waving at me from a distance. I quickly thanked the guide as I slid off of their back and made my way over to him. The ravenette regarded me with a kind look, and spread his arms as a welcoming gesture.

All the world's noise seemed to come upon deaf ears the closer I got to him.

Though his lips moved and the trees rustled, all I could hear was the sound of my own heart beating, thrumming through my eardrums. The sound of the flowing of blood in my veins became more prominent as I got increasingly star-struck. 

Was this reality? Or just another twisted dream that came back to haunt me?

I wanted to believe that it was real. I desperately prayed, in that moment, that this was real. Maybe in a few seconds I would wake up, breathing heavily, covered in sweat in my futon on the ground. Then I'd squeeze my eyes shut again, crying for the sweet dream to come back to me. But as my staggers became steadier, and those steady strides quickened, I had a newfound energy to hope.

To believe that my life wasn't so hopelessly lost.

When the tips of my fingers reached my friend's kimono, my heart blossomed. The silk seemed to greet my touch like they already knew each other, despite the sensation being so foreign. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob until my eyes fell out of their sockets.

To think that the connections hadn't been severed, but rather weakened, was the greatest relief I'd ever experienced. It spurred me to think that maybe I could reconnect with the outside world rather than keep to myself all the time.

The possibility of not being alone and feeling a socially ambiguous made my insides tingle with excitement -- with childish wonder. There was someone who still cared for me, who still waited for me all these years, who was kind enough to reach out and contact me, the recluse, the hermit.

When I fell into his arms, breathless, I closed my eyes and finally smiled.

I could smile again.

And be thankful.

And finally feel like I was somebody.

I couldn't have asked for anything more.